


Magnum Opus

by Sunie (orphan_account)



Series: Ex Gratia [1]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Sunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then Josh is holding a knife up to his own neck, and Chris's train of thought flies straight off the rails.</p><p>(Or, the AU in which the Wendigos don't attack until <i>after</i> the reveal of the Psycho as Josh. Things are pretty different from there.</p><p>Josh-centric because my sweet star child deserved better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to get a general idea on what's different in this AU up until this point: everything that happened with Josh, Sam, Ashley, and Chris is still the same. However, Jessica and Mike are still peacefully having their “fun” in the cabin, and Matt and Emily are just going to find her bag. So basically, everyone's unhurt.
> 
> For now.

“How does it feel? Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated? I mean, panicked? All those emotions that my sisters got to feel once one year ago! Only guess what? They didn't get to laugh it off! No! Nope! No no no! They're gone!”

Josh is in hysterics now, laughing, pacing, completely absorbed in this performance of dreamed grandeur. His filthy overalls sag loose around his body as he moves, back and forth, to and fro, cackling to himself about the genius of his ridiculous prank. His footsteps leave dark red on the floor, now known to Chris and Ashley both as just red paint, or maybe pig's blood. But definitely not a human's.

Ashley is still watching on in shock, bound to her chair, when Chris suddenly fucking loses it. “What the _fuck_ , Josh?” He spits, struggling against his binds. “Dude, you legitimately _traumatized_ me. You traumatized _us_. I thought—I thought I fucking _killed_ you, man. I fucking—do you know how long the image of you all… like _that_ —is going to stay in my mind? This is fucked up. This is so fucked up, man. You're off your fucking—”

Josh laughs again, his body turning. In the shadows, only half his face can be seen, dotted with grime and gross, his eyes flashing manic and tense, wound up, like a spring. “Oh, come now. Don't be so upset. You're gonna be thanking me later when you become the next internet sensation.”

“What?” Chris shakes his head rapidly. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about all this! The romance, the drama, the blood, the _gore_. The internet's gonna _love_ this. They're gonna eat it up, I tell you. It's my magnum opus, guys. My greatest work. Everything was so on point—the ouija board, the dollhouse, the _ghost_ —”

“Josh,” Chris snaps, and something about his tone of voice makes Josh falter, just for a second. “This isn't funny. I'm serious. You really, legitimately could have _fucked us up_.”

But I didn't, Josh wants to say, but the words don't come out. Instead, his hands just clench into fists. Angry. He's angry. He didn't even hurt them. They don't have a single scratch on them. Not like Beth. Not like Hannah. Not like his two sisters who vanished into the cold of winter, never to be seen or loved or held again, never to laugh again, to smile again, to cry again. Not like Hannah, whose last memories were of heartbreak and betrayal and _abandonment_. That was _real_ , he reminds himself. His sisters' deaths were fucking _real_. This shit? This spectacle? This shit is fake. None of this was real at all. It was like they—Josh and Ashley and Sam and all of those fuckers—it was like they were in _his_ world for a time. His world, where things aren't real and they can't hurt you (but they can still hurt you deep inside, maybe where it really matters).

“Just… just untie us, Josh. Please,” Ashley begs, speaking for the first time since Josh's reveal. And suddenly Chris remembers she's there and it all crumbles, he breaks down, he can't even be angry anymore. He's just so happy, happy they're both alive, and he's so out of focus that he doesn't realize Josh is freeing them until Ashley leaps out of her seat and wraps her arms around Chris, holds him close, their bodies pressed together like never before.

Josh backs away. “See?” He laughs, but his laughter is weaker now, the enthusiasm of his brilliant prank's success dying down with the realization that the climax of his magnum opus has to come soon. It's time. Time for the jokes to stop. Time for the last _just Joshin' ya_. “See? I told you you could get to second base, Cochise. I told you.”

Josh's pet name for Chris makes him feel something like a stirring of friendship and that pisses Chris off. No. He's supposed to be mad at Josh. Furious, even. After all Josh put them through, Chris should really be fucking socking the guy in the _face_ right now—

Then Josh is holding a knife up to his own neck, and Chris's train of thought flies straight off the rails. “Josh?” He says, his voice rising in a panic, and he stands up.

Ashley spins around, too, and her eyes widen when she sees. “Josh, what are you doing?” She lifts her hand cautiously, but keeps her distance. “Please, put that down.”

Josh's hand is shaking violently, to the point where sometimes the serrated edge of the blade brushes against the skin of his throat. “It's the climax,” he says, his voice thick, vision blurring. “The part where I join Hannah and Beth,” he whispers, and he's not looking at them anymore, but somewhere else, somewhere beyond. He closes his eyes and wonders if it'll be just like butchering a pig when—

Chris tackles him. Josh falls to the ground beneath him, the knife tumbling from his hands. “Ash!” Chris shouts, and she gets the memo, kicking the knife far away with her foot. Josh is struggling now, thrashing, cursing up a fucking storm and Chris is trying to pin him down with all his might—he really wishes he'd paid more attention in weight class ( _you mean gym?_ )—and finally, finally, Josh calms down. And by “calms down”, it means he's only trembling and crying and moaning about things that aren't really there, which is, at the very least, easier to handle than his flailing.

Chris gets off of Josh with a groan, and then looks down at his friend. Josh is curled up on the ground, curling into himself, sobbing. Something inside of Chris twists up. He's never seen him like this before—so broken, so fucked up. He knew Josh had problems, but he never knew… like this. Like that. Like, problems as in, “holding a knife to your throat trying to kill yourself in front of your friends” problems.

“Dude,” Chris says in dismay. “I was mad at you, but not like _that_. Never— _never_ like that.”

But Josh isn't listening anymore, at least not to Chris. Everything is dark, so dark, but then _it's vivid again, and you're in that drafty room, Dr Hill's silhouette by the windows and their tattered curtains. “It's always about you,” he breathes through his teeth, “Always about you. It was just a prank, right? Just a joke. Was this what you wanted? Your petty idea of 'revenge'? Well, you've got it now, Joshua. Nothing left for you here anymore. Nothing left for you here but people you used to know and an empty house on a lonely, cold mountain filled with memories you used to trust.” And your hands grip the seat and you look down and you don't know what to to say and suddenly the scarecrow is in the grass field with the barn in the background and what scares you? What in the image scares you, Joshua? Is it fear of the unknown? Loneliness? Isolation? Joshua? Jo_ sh? Josh! Josh, please! Snap out of it!”

Chris is shaking him. Shaking him back and forth by the shoulders. Josh snaps his head to the side quickly and refocuses his vision. “Stop—wait—don't hit me, just stop—” he gasps and Chris stops right away, pulling his hands back as if Josh is a thousand degrees.

“Dude… please,” Chris says, and now he sounds broken, too. “Please tell me what's wrong, man. I… I've never seen you like that.”

Josh looks to the ground again, and slowly sits up. His heart is beating at a hundred miles per hour, pumping cold blood through his veins. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be feeling right now, but right now all he can feel is emptiness and self-hatred. _You couldn't even kill yourself right._ The tears are back again and this time he doesn't stop them, lets them slide down his cheeks, past his puffy eyebags. He wasn't supposed to fail. He was supposed to die, right there, after completing the work of months of labor, his “prank”. He was going to get his revenge and then die and join Hannah and Beth in wherever it was that murdered, disappeared teenagers got to go, heaven or hell or whatever it was. He was going to have _peace_.

“Chris...” Ashley says slowly, “maybe we should take Josh and go upstairs, go see if the others are there. I think what we all really need is some TLC.”

Right. Some TLC. Chris breathes. That's a good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pretty much started writing this on a whim because god damn it Josh Washington you sad sinnamon roll, you deserved the world and you didn't even get a single good ending. So here we go, a fix-it fic that will hopefully satiate my grief. This will pretty much be rewriting the entire last chunk of the game, and then some.
> 
> Notice that as of now the pairing is “Chris & Josh”, rather than “Chris/Josh”! I'm not sure yet if I want to make this into a Climbing Class fic or not. If you guys have any opinions, I'd love to hear them. I know Climbing Class is a pretty popular pairing, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I just wanted to start off by saying I love the feedback you guys are giving me. I've decided that in terms of relationships and stuff, I'm just gonna go with whatever ends up happening, Climbing Class or no.
> 
> Also, I'd like to point out that I made a mistake in my notes in the previous chapter. Matt and Emily are not going to get the bag, they already have the bag and are at the radio tower (because they think a maniac's on the loose who got Josh cut in half). Sorry!

“Sam,” Josh croaks abruptly as Chris and Ashley hoist him up onto his feet.

“Sam?” Ashley repeats, bewildered, and then realizes what Josh might mean. “Josh—where's Sam?” She resists the urge to ask him _what did you do with her_ at risk that it might seem like an interrogation, and set him off the edge (again).

“I...” Josh swallows. Saying it out loud makes it seem all the more worse, and guilt fills the emptiness inside of him. “I tied her to a chair. In the basement. She's in a bath towel.”

Ashley and Chris exchange glances. “I'll go look for her,” Ashley says, her bravery renewed now that she knows none of what happened—none of what is happening—can do her any real harm. “You take Josh upstairs and see if the others are back yet.”

Chris nods and puts his hand on Josh's back, gives it a little rub, while the two of them head up the stairs and back into the lobby of the house. The lights are all still out, and now there are balloons and lit candles everywhere. It might have spooked Chris out earlier, but now he knows, reassures himself: all of this was just a part of Josh's elaborate prank.

Josh sits awkwardly on the couch, his arms wrapped around his body. He never gave a single thought about what would happen after his vengeance had been exacted. He didn't _have_ to, because he's supposed to be dead right now, with nothing left of him but a body and the video footage that would make his friends famous. But now he's obviously still here and he's not really sure what to do with himself, not really sure what's going to happen, not really sure how much he might have just complicated everything even more, not really sure if _revenge is the greatest medicine there is_.

-

“We need to go back to the lodge,” Matt says finally.

“Back? You think I wanna go back there? Plus, the ranger told us to wait here, and I'm gonna do just that.” Emily admittedly doesn't like staying alone at the fire tower either, but she'll wait here until dawn if it means avoiding the wrath of the fucking maniac.

“If the helicopter's not gonna get here until next morning, we might as well wait with the others, instead of the two of us alone up here. And anyways, we really should tell everyone else that help is gonna come.”

Emily chews her lip, her arms crossed over her chest. “Fine,” she says. “But don't blame me if some psycho comes lunging out at us with a chainsaw or some shit.”

They head back down together. Some witty banter later and they're almost there, foraying deep into the thick winter snows. Matt has to admit that the mountain which once symbolized privacy and intimacy now symbolizes something like isolation, especially with the knowledge that there's a _maniac_ on the loose.

“Hey,” Emily says suddenly, placing a hand on his arm. “Do you feel like… we're being watched, or something?”

Matt laughs it off. Why the fuck did Emily have to say that? Now he's getting even more paranoid, even more prickly all over, and it's not just from the cold. God damn it. “Please, don't say that unless you mean it. Are you sure?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Don't patronize me. It's just...” she bites her lip, looking around. “...Something feels… wrong.”

Matt pauses. He doesn't want to dismiss her again (because deep inside he knows she's right, she always is), but he doesn't want to feed the fear that's grabbing away at him inside. So he smiles, tries to be reassuring. “Well, don't sweat it. We're almost back at the lodge anyways.”

“Right,” she says, but she doesn't seem any calmer. He doesn't blame her.

Of course, not a second after she says that, something lunges from the bushes. Matt shouts out in surprise, scrambling back, and Emily turns around. “What?! What is it?!” she shrieks, panic rising, but in the dark, it's impossible to make out.

“Run!” Matt grabs her arm and just starts fucking _going_ , not really sure if the thing is following—not wanting to know—hoping it isn't. They scramble towards the lodge, kicking up snow behind them and scrabbling past rocks and trees, and they hear it—whatever the fuck it is— _screeching_ , like some kind of monster from a shitty horror movie.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh god! Open the door! Open the fucking door!” Emily screams when they get to the lodge, and she slams her fists on the door as if her life depends on it (and it does, maybe). And in a second the door is open and Matt and Emily tumble in, all pants and panic.

“Close it,” Matt barks. “Close it NOW!”

“Why?” Chris asks, bewildered, but he does what he's told, and shuts it. Emily scrambles to her feet and bolts it shut, then presses her face to the window to see if _it_ is still out there.

Nothing. Just falling snow and black trees.

She slumps to the ground, wheezing. “Holy shit,” she breathes, “holy shit. Did you see… did you see what was chasing us, Matt?”

Matt shakes his head.

“What happened?” Chris asks, taking a step back. He's never seen them so winded before. He turns slightly, glancing back at Josh, as if to ask him, _did you have something to do with this?_ , but Josh looks just as confused as he does.

“There was… there was some _thing_ out there,” Emily explains between forced gasps. “It chased us. It was… it screamed at us. I don't know where it is now, but it's out there somewhere, and it didn't sound like any animal that I know.” She's still gathering her bearings when she sees Josh perched on the couch. Her heart skips a beat. “Wait—Josh?”

“What?” He sounds lost.

Now Matt is looking too. “Dude… Chris told us you were _dead_. That you got sawed in half.”

“Oh,” Chris says, and then raises his hands. “Oh, uh… wait. I can explain.” Don't interrogate Josh, he pleads with his eyes, but neither of them speak the language of glances and glares. “Um… all of what happened… Josh getting sawed in half, the maniac… like… all of that wasn't real.”

Now it's Emily's turn to snap the word “what”.

“It was… it was a prank.” Chris feels drained, unsure of how to explain this without setting them off. “Josh… set it up. But the important part is, none of us are really hurt. So… whatever was chasing you out there, I'm sure it was just an animal or something. There's nothing out here.”

“Josh _set it up_? You're telling me he set up a prank where he gets fucking sawed in half as a joke?” Emily snaps, pointing an accusatory finger. Chris winces. This situation isn't going to be easy to control. “I mean, what the hell is all that about? Was it supposed to be funny? Because it's not!”

Chris opens his mouth to defend Josh again, but Josh suddenly starts talking on his own, the words spilling out of him like blood from an open wound. “It was supposed to be revenge,” he confesses, speaking weirdly, almost slurred. “To put you all through the shit my sisters went through before they—before they died. I had it all planned out for months. I even taped it. I was gonna—gonna put it up on the net. Make you all famous. A horror movie: only real, no pre-rehearsed actions, no script; just pure, real terror. And then...” he stops, his eyes big and shining, and Emily and Matt feel a twinge of something in them but they don't know what, but they've never seen Josh like this, so _exposed_. But he doesn't finish whatever thought he had, as if it's too awful to give voice to.

“Josh...” Matt says, “...that's fucked up.”

“I know,” Josh whispers. “I know.” It's fucked up, he's fucked up, _you're fucked up. You're fucked up and Hannah and Beth are dead and so is your friendship with these people; that's dead too, and you're all alone now aren't you Joshua? Just what you feared most. Why did you play games with their lives? What kind of sick fuck are you?_

Chris can see Josh staring into space and shaking. Matt and Emily notice it, too, and even Emily has something like sympathy in her voice when she says, “...Is something wrong with him?”

Chris reaches out and touches Josh's shoulder, and just that is enough to bring him back. Josh blinks the fog from his eyes and looks sheepish. “I'm sorry,” he says, “I'm fine now. I'm fine.”

But they all know he isn't, and that hurts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are lovely, but I actually would like to tell you all that for the first time in my life, I am quite self-motivated to write this, so please don't feel obligated to leave comments. This story is quite frankly probably going to get finished anyways because dear god, I'm so obsessed with my sweet star child. Kudos are appreciated, though! :^)

Sam is pissed and she doesn't know if she can find it in herself to forgive Josh, but from the way Ashley is talking, there's probably more to the story than just “yeah, he pranked us all for kicks and petty revenge”.

“Just tell me,” Sam says finally. “I know there's more than what you're telling me, Ash.”

And Ash looks back at her with her big eyes, all lost and sad (and Ashley's always had these big and pitying eyes, maybe that's what Chris fell in love with first—her eyes), and then she can't hold it in anymore and she falters. “Josh… he tried to kill himself.”

Sam freezes up. “He what?”

Ashley looks down. “After he confessed everything to us, he… he took out this knife. And he was...” her eyes fill with tears. “He was gonna slit his own throat, I think.”

“Oh god.” A chill grips Sam's body, and it's not just because of the fact that she's still wearing just a bath towel. “Is he… okay, now?”

“Yeah, he… he's good now.” Ash replies. _As good as he can be_ , she wants to say, but she has a feeling it's already implied.

When they get back to the living room, Josh and Chris and Em and Matt are all already there with nothing but the sound of howling wind and Josh rustling against the couch.

“Hey,” Sam says, hoping to ease the tension. “So… how about getting the power and heat back on?”

Josh perks up and a fragile flicker of stability passes over his face. Something to do. Something he can do right (unlike everything else). “Yeah, I can do that.” Be useful, Joshua.

“Oh, cool. I'll go with you, then.” Chris says, determined to keep an eye on his best friend. “Sam, you should see if you can… uh, get some clothes on.”

Sam looks down and then rolls her eyes. “Right. How could I forget, I'm in a towel. Ha ha.” She and Ash head off together, and Chris and Josh go down into the basement.

“The power _will_ work, right?” Chris asks carefully. He doesn't give voice to the implication that the only reason it isn't on is because Josh wouldn't turn it on.

“Yeah, yeah, Cochise. Don't worry about it. I got it.” Josh is trying all normal now and Chris isn't sure if it unnerves him or calms him. Probably a bit of both. He knows—he can _feel_ —that a breakdown is just under the surface. But hell if he's gonna be the one to trigger it. It's just—how can Josh be so _normal_ now? Or even pretend to be? After what happened? Chris is afraid of every object they walk past that has a sharp edge. He doesn't know if Josh is going to lunge for it and cut open his jugulars when “Cochise” isn't looking.

(Of course, that would be a far less gruesome end than being fucking _sawed in half_ , but Chris tries to push the image—and the _sounds_ , god the _sounds_ —out of his mind.)

Josh just seems tired now, as if a heavy weight is on his shoulders, and Chris hates himself for finding that to be a bit of a relief. (Is it the weight of two dead sisters he carries, he wonders?) He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't even register Josh fiddling with the power source.

“So… are you sure you're okay?” Chris asks, wincing at his own question, hoping it wasn't insensitive.

“I'm fine,” Josh replies quickly, too quickly. But now he's immersed in the switches and wires and Chris decides to just leave him alone. Josh has always liked things like that, the technical aspects of things—makes him feel productive, useful, something he isn't always (something he isn't usually, college dropout he is).

The events of the last few hours flash before Chris's eyes. He has so many questions—so many things he wants to know—but he reprimands himself that tidbits of knowledge are not worth shattering Josh's fragile emotional state.

A few clicks later, and the lights flicker on, dimly first, and then with radiance. Chris has never felt so grateful to be able to _see_ (except whenever he loses his glasses).

“Alright!” Chris smiles, but it feels forced, like his tired muscles are trying to yank the corners of his lips up and it makes for a weird expression. But even a forced smile is better than nothing for Josh, and Josh feels maybe a little good that he did _something_ right. Chris claps Josh on the back lightly, but instead of inciting a “bro” reaction, something like fear shoots through Josh's eyes and he tenses up. Chris immediately yanks his hand back, scolding himself in his mind.

“What? I'm fine,” Josh says, sounding a little irritated. He's not a porcelain _doll_ , stop treating him like that, _stop making it about you, Josh, let Chris enjoy himself, he deserves that much at least_ and Josh forces a smile too but his is even worse than Chris's.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry,” Chris says sheepishly. “Let's just head back up.”

They're all back in the lobby now, Sam's dressed and the others are gathered up on couches. Judging by the expressions on all their faces, Josh can guess that Ashley's already told all of them the truth, and he isn't sure if he's supposed to be bracing himself for an onslaught of rebukes or not.

But instead of scorn, they regard him with care, and somehow, that makes him even angrier. He doesn't _deserve_ their kindness. He doesn't _deserve_ their forgiveness. He almost—he almost _wants_ them to hate him. It'd make it easier for everything to accept, at least. (And it'd make it easier for him to just die, too, but Josh is trying so hard, so very hard right now, to not think about the topic of him dying, not with all of them around and Chris hovering over him like a hawk.)

“So me and Matt were talking and we're still pretty sure that whatever was chasing us out there was not a bear,” Em says suddenly, cutting into the pregnant silence of the room. (And Josh is very, very grateful for this change of topic, unsettling and frivolous as it might be.)

“Em, we've already been through this. There's _nothing_ out here that can harm us,” Sam says with a slight smile. “There's no need to be so wired.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Em snaps back. “You're not the one who had a near-death experience with some unknown creature out in the fucking woods.”

“Look, guys,” Matt elaborates as calmly as he can, “I know you all think we were just crazy because, I mean, we were _all_ on edge after… what happened back there with… well, what we thought happened. But I promise you that what Em and I heard out there was _not_ any ordinary animal.”

“Well, let's say you're right. What are we supposed to do?” Sam sits back, chewing at her lip. She has to admit she's a little mad at them—illogically, irrationally—it's not their _fault_ they were chased by something in the woods—but she really doesn't need this right now, not when they're all still trying to calm down and accept the fact that nothing that's happened so far is real. The only thing this is doing is casting doubt on that fact, and making Blackwood Pines ominous again when it was just starting to look friendly.

“We need to go get Mike and Jess. They're still out there in that cabin,” Matt replies. “Let's just at least have everyone together, in the lodge. Then we can figure out what to do from there.” Em nods in agreement, though she doesn't want to be the one to have to go out and get them.

“...Fine. I'll go,” Sam says, standing up.

“Me too,” says Chris, even though Ashley tugs at his sleeve and gives him a look that means the world to him.

“I'm going too,” says Josh, and everyone looks at him. Josh can already feel the objections on their lips when he says, “It's my fault Mike and Jess are out there in that cabin.”

“You sure?” Chris asks, but he already knows the answer, and he hates that.

But Sam just smiles, tries to see the good in the situation. Maybe it's good that Josh is going to get a little fresh air, get his mind off of the “prank” and the events in the basement. “That's fine with me,” she says, and looks around to the rest of the group. “You guys hold down the fort at the lodge just in case help comes. We'll be back soon.”

The more she says it out loud, the more she starts to believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

Jess and Mike are still in the peaceful throes of their afterglow when a rattling noise batters against the door of the cabin. Mike jolts, sitting up, and Jess looks up at him with concern.

“Mike? You better go check out what that was,” she says, covering herself with the blanket.

Mike slides onto his feet and sloppily dons some clothing. The gun sitting in the rack looks very attractive right about now, so he follows his instinct and grabs it. He stands at the door for a few moments, gathering up his bravery, before he mutters “fuck it” under his breath and busts it open, hoisting the gun up and turning about. “Who's out there?!” he shouts, ready to shoot at any second, but there's nothing but snow and silence.

And then he hears Jessica's scream. He whips around, and runs back into the cabin just in time to see her being dragged out the window by her hair. “MIKE! HELP ME!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs, flailing and writhing to no avail.

“Fuck!” Mike raises the gun, his hands shaking, but he can't even see what it is that's taking her, so he drops it and tries to grab onto her and pull her back but he's too slow and Jessica's gone, out the window. “JESSICA!” He peers out the window, heart slamming against the bars of his ribcage, but there's nothing, not even a trail to follow out in the bleak white snow.

He settles down from the window, breathing heavily. His hands go back to the gun. What to do now, Mike? What to do? His mind races through hundreds of possibilities all at once. Go back to the lodge or look for Jess by himself. But he doesn't have to decide, because just then, he hears the sound of Sam's voice approaching from outside the cabin.

“Sam!” He says, and runs outside. Sam, Chris, and Josh are all there, and they flinch when they see the gun.

“Woah, woah, woah. What's going on, Mike?” Sam asks, holding up her hands instinctively.

“Some—some _thing_ took Jess—I—I don't know where it took her—it was fast, so fast, and somehow it didn't leave any footprints—please, guys, we gotta help her, we gotta get Jess,” he rambles, and they stare at him like he's got horns growing out of his ass.

“Okay… just… calm down for a sec, Mike—” Chris says, but gets cut off when Mike groans in frustration.

“I don't have time for this. If you guys aren't gonna help me get her back, I'm gonna go off on my own.”

“No, wait, we never said anything like that.” Sam sighs, and shakes her head. “...Matt and Em told us that they were attacked by some thing, too. I was a little skeptical, but… it's best to be prepared. We're all going together.”

Josh is oddly quiet, and Mike would normally give voice to something like that, but he's got bigger things to worry about. The four of them circle around to the back of the cabin, on the side where the window was shattered open. No tracks left at all, as Mike said, but they keep going anyways, and eventually Chris crouches down.

“Hey,” he says. “Take a look at this.” He rises, and in his hand is Jess's phone, screen cracked in a cobweb of glass edges.

“That's Jess's,” Mike says, and looks ahead. “So we're going the right way, at least.”

Chris shoves it into one of his many pockets. “You know how to use that, right?”

Mike scoffs, palming the gun in his hands. “Course I do.”

They're babbling on and eventually their talk blends into the background, at least for Josh. He trails on the tail end of the group and tries to concentrate on the passing of the landscape as they go, watching white and black transition when tree trunks transition with the snow behind them. At this moment he realizes just how _loud_ his breathing is, just how much he can hear his heart and the blood in his ears. His mind is wandering back to the prank again, the stupid _prank_ that Dr Hill told him—yes, he _warned_ him that it was a bad idea!—but he wouldn't listen, Josh never listens, Josh never listens to anyone except himself. Himself and the voices inside of his head (that are maybe parts of himself too, so even if he listens to them, it's still himself, isn't it?).

He had thought that the last few months were the most lucid times of his life. Off his medication, he had felt like something anew. No longer zombified, but _alive_. He was _Josh_ again. But all of it had come crashing down on him when everything was back: the voices, the darkness, the _loneliness_ —and Josh realizes, painfully, now, that his existence is forever tied to a plastic orange cylinder and capsules bursting open in his gut.

The thought of _guts_ and his mind is back to the _pigs_ he'd spent so much time butchering. It was fucked up. It was so fucked up and he knew, yet he couldn't stop. Hannah and Beth wanted him to do it, he thought; Hannah and Beth wanted revenge. Hannah and Beth wanted him to die, too, because it had been all his fault.

Josh stops walking, consumed in the vortex of his turbulent mind. The world seems to press in on him. He breathes, a little more heavily now, his hands going to his arms, rubbing up and down, fingers digging into his own flesh. He hunches a bit, rocking slightly on his feet. Dr Hill's voice is at his ear, soft and silken and patient. _Just breathe in and out, Joshua. In and out._

“The fuck is up with him?” Mike asks, noticing that Josh is at least ten paces behind the rest of them and seems to be hyperventilating.

Chris and Sam shoot him slightly venomous looks and Mike isn't really sure why, but in a moment Chris is at Josh's side and running a hand down his back, whispering things to him in a low voice. It takes a bit, but slowly Josh is brought back from whatever episode he was having, and he breathes heavily, nodding and muttering to himself, “I'm okay. I trust you, I trust you, I trust you.”

“What's wrong with him?” Mike asks again, this time softer, and directed only to Sam, who watches on with concern in her eyes.

Sam turns to Mike and bites her lip, then shakes her head. “It's a long story, Mike, and we don't have time for long stories right now.”

“Is he going to hold us back?” Mike shifts his weight onto his other foot, looking only mildly annoyed.

“He's coming no matter what,” Sam replies firmly, and turns, continuing on. Mike sighs and follows her, not bothering to check and see if Chris and Josh are still accompanying. But he knows they're there when he hears their hushed conversation, Josh's frantic whispers and Chris's calming nothings, and the shaky sound of their nervous and forced laughter in response to nervous and forced jokes.

“You can tell me while we're walking,” Mike presses. “I'd really like to know what's wrong with Josh, you know. He's my friend as much as he is yours.”

Sam looks forward. “...Well, while you and Jess were gone, Josh… played a 'prank' on us.” Her brows furrow together. Calling it a 'prank' is a massive understatement, but maybe it's not the best choice right now to reveal to Mike just how traumatizing Josh's little game really was. “He… he saw it as revenge for what happened to his sisters last year.”

At that, Mike winces. He knows he played his part in that—and as much as he likes to deny it, as much as he likes to tell himself _you couldn't have possibly done anything about it, Michael,_ he knows it's a fucking lie and that if anyone could have done anything, it was him. (And Hannah's face flickers into his mind again and he pushes her out, pushes her back where she belongs, in the fucking grave, and out of his goddamn conscience.

But now he realizes Josh doesn't have that privilege. Josh's demons go beyond just his conscience and they can't be pushed back into the grave of his mind.)

Sam continues, maybe or maybe not noticing the trouble written across Mike's face. “But he blames himself for it, too. He… he thinks his sisters dying is his fault.”

“What?” Mike says, exasperated. “He had nothing to do with it.”

“But maybe that's the point. He had nothing to do with helping them, either. He was too busy being passed out drunk… like he always is.” Sam looks off. Josh always had a penchant for drinking himself past the point of drunkenness, to the point of unconsciousness.

“That's fucking crazy,” Mike mumbles, and Sam knows. Sam knows it's _”crazy”_ and for some reason, the word hurts. _Crazy._ Is that what Josh is? Crazy? Is it because he doesn't make sense? Is it because he's hurting? Is it because he's _wrong_?

But she doesn't have time to mull over it, because a few more steps ahead and a high-pitched screech fills the air.


	5. Chapter 5

The four of them freeze up and look around, eyes darting across the wood. “You heard that, right?” Chris asks, trying not to sound afraid (and failing).

“Wish I hadn't,” Sam replies, her jaw tightening.

They hear it again, and this time, something lunges from the brush. Mike curses and jumps back, lifting the gun. His hands shake, but adrenaline takes over and he makes the shot, hitting whatever the fuck it is. It screeches, leaping back, but relatively unharmed, as if the shot was nothing but a pebble from a slingshot to it.

It's horrifying, whatever it is. Panic is rising inside of Josh and Dr Hill's voice is there again (he never shuts up, it seems) saying _something far worse than what can be dreamt up by the imagination of a spoiled, self-indulgent little brat_. Twisted up and pale with a horrifying face, bald, withered skin and bulging white eyes and crooked sharp teeth, all knobby joints and claws.

But before it can lunge again, a jet of flame erupts from the side, setting it ablaze. It screeches again, this time in pain, and scrambles back into the brush. The group turns rapidly to regard their savior—a large, intimidating figure with a bandana for a mask and goggles.

“Don't just stand there,” the man urges angrily. “Run!”

He doesn't have to say it again. In seconds they're spilling into the open gate of a large abandoned structure, and the man follows in after them, accompanied by two wolfish dogs. He shuts and locks the gate behind himself, and motions for them to keep going, into the building.

Josh clings to Chris like Chris is his life. Chris, however, honestly isn't any less scared than Josh is, but he acts strong because he has to. The interior of the building is run-down and pretty sketchy, but it beats being chased by abominations in the middle of the woods.

They're all still catching their breath and trying to take in the situation when the man with the flamethrower lowers his bandana and removes his goggles, revealing a rugged looking middle aged guy with scars raking across his right eye. “Tell me. What are you kids doing running around here at this time of night?”

Mike splutters, and Sam steps forward. “One of our friends was taken by—I guess, one of those things we just saw. She—”

“If that's the case, then you can count her dead,” the Stranger replies nonchalantly. “Go back to where you came from and be glad the rest of you are still alive.”

“No!” Mike barks, a little more angrily than he intended. “We have to get her. I don't even care if there's just a—… a body.”

“Son, I don't think you know what you're dealing with. There might not even _be_ a body left for you to find.” The Stranger leans against a table, and one of his wolf-dogs brushes against his legs, amber eyes watching the group intently.

“What are you saying?” Chris asks, brows furrowing. “And—what are those things, anyways?”

“Yeah,” Josh breaks in, sounding thin and very afraid. “I wanna know what those things are.” _Are those the things? Are those the things that killed your sisters?_ He breathes. _No, Joshua. You did it. You killed your sisters and you let them die._

The Stranger lets out a heavy sigh, looking down for a moment before he regards the group again. “...You're the Washington boy, aren't you?”

Josh is taken aback. “Yeah?” How does he know who he is?

“I warned your family not to build that lodge on this mountain. This place is sacred to my forefathers—the Cree.” He pauses, and then motions to their surroundings. “See this building you're in? It's the abandoned Blackwood Sanatorium. Years ago, there was a cave-in in the mines, and the miners were trapped down there so long that they succumbed to cannibalism. They were brought back here for rehabilitation, but eventually, they broke out.”

“Broke out?” Sam's mouth is dry. She doesn't like where this is going.

“See, there's an Algonquian legend about the Wendigo Curse. That's what those monsters are called: Wendigos. Any person who should resort to cannibalism on this mountain shall be cursed; their bodies morph, become monstrous. Creatures born from ice and insatiable hunger.” He gives the wolf-dog a little head rub as he grits his teeth. “The Wendigos have impenetrable skin to bullets. A shotgun can slow them down. Fire softens their skin. But killing one releases its spirit into the air. Better to trap and confine them.”

“Wait a minute,” Mike interjects. “So you're saying one of those—Wendigo, whatever, things—is _eating Jess_?”

The Stranger snorts. “Not right now, no. If they can, they like to take their prey back to their nest. Then, they'll eat it slowly.”

“Then that means we still have a chance,” Mike presses.

The Stranger sighs. “If you're going to insist, then fine. Yes, you do have a chance. The Wendigos make their home base deep in the abandoned mines.”

“Thanks. Guys, we're going,” Mike says, and he doesn't care if they follow him or not. Thankfully, they do, but before they can leave, the Stranger stops them.

“Hold on. If you're gonna go out there, you're gonna need some assistance, and some equipment.”

“Oh, so you're helping after all? After telling us all this about how we should just give up?” Mike responds, but curses himself internally for maybe being too snappy. He'll take any help he can get, whether he likes or hates the guy or not.

“Don't test my patience, boy,” the Stranger growls. “Now, start out by getting rid of that piddly little rifle you got there, son. It won't do you any good against a Wendigo.”

Mike reluctantly complies, setting it down onto the counter.

“Now, whichever ones of you can handle a gun, I got a spare shotgun here and two more in the back. Flamethrower's mine,” he adds somewhat humorously, but none of them laugh. Shame.

Mike takes the first shotgun. Sam and Chris take the remaining. Josh remains unarmed. He wouldn't be able to shoot anything anyways, but now he feels even more exposed and defenseless than usual.

(That's okay. That's why he's sticking closer to Chris than ever before, now, and Chris has to admit his heart does do a little swell when he realizes just how much Josh trusts him, and all of that trust almost makes him forget the image of Josh being sawed in half.

Shit. Why did he have to think of that? Now the moment's ruined.)

The Stranger starts giving them the rundown as they head out of the sanatorium towards the closest entrance to the mines. “Now, the Wendigos have movement-based vision. They see things better when they're moving around. Which means that if you have no escape from the situation, just stay completely still, and pray it decides to leave you alone.” He pauses, then adds, “'Course, that's out of the question if you've already been shooting it up with lead. At that point, it's not gonna forget about you, and eventually, you're gonna have to move.”

They step into the mines. Mike is wired as hell but he tries to put on a strong face, and he can feel Sam doing the same thing, too. Between the two of them, they know that they've got not only themselves to watch for but Chris and Josh too, Josh moreso, because at least in a calm situation Chris might be able to aim and hit something (though maybe not well). Josh—not so much.

A little further in and they hear the weak wailing of a familiar voice. Mike instantly wants to run in and save her, but the Stranger holds out an arm, and cautions in a low voice, “The Wendigos can duplicate human voices to lure in prey. If your friend's still alive, I doubt she's conscious, and I doubt she'd be stupid enough to scream like that if she were. Don't fall for it.”

Mike swallows and prays that the man is right, because if he isn't, he might have just really fucked up.

“I should also warn you that the most powerful of the Wendigos is one which I have failed to capture as of yet,” the Stranger continues. “My grandfather called it the Makkapitew, the fiercest of them all.” He glances only momentarily at Josh, and decides to hold in the information that he's pretty sure the current Makkapitew is inhabiting the body of a young Washington girl. The poor kid looks unstable enough, and the Stranger isn't about to endanger all of them by making him even more upset.

They're lulled into a sort of false sense of security by the quiet of the mines, after the fake screaming of Jess dies down. It's silent and dark and terrifying, but they're not being actively chased by anything, and the Stranger's presence, although odd, is reassuring in its own way.

Josh's mind is just starting to wander again when a characteristic high-pitched shrieking reverberates throughout the caverns. The Stranger reacts instantly, holding up his flamethrower. Then—it lunges out, screaming. “Go! Run!” He shouts out as he fires jets of flame at the awful beast.

The group turns and runs deeper in. After the creature scrabbles away, the Stranger runs too, but now the action seems to have attracted more of them, and a horde of shrieks echoes down the mine shaft.

Chris is so busy panicking and trying to run that he doesn't realize he's lost his footing. “Woah—shit!” He gasps as he falls over his own feet, and starts sliding down into the dark. Josh, who's right behind him, falls down right with him, and two are sent tumbling down deep into the shadows, cursing and swearing as they're covered in bumps and scrapes.

Chris hits the very bottom with a heavy thump, and Josh lands right next to him, groaning in pain. Chris's vision blurs, not that it means much, because they're surrounded by nothing but black. He reaches out and grabs Josh by the arm, shaking him. “Josh, Josh...” He whispers frantically, and Josh groans again, rolling slightly onto his side.

“Fuck,” Chris mutters under his breath, and reaches into his pocket. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays he doesn't regret this, before he turns on the flashlight on his phone.

The light shines straight onto the face of a Wendigo, a foot away from the two of them, milky eyes wide and hungry.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris feels like his entire life just flashed before him in the frames of his filthy glasses, and his throat is so completely closed up that he can barely choke out a single breath.

The Wendigo draws closer, growling softly through its horrifying maw. Then Josh rises with a grunt and instantly, its attention turns from Chris to Josh.

 _No, no, no, no, no! Stay still, Josh!_ Chris screams in his mind, but can't speak.

Of course, staying still is not on the forefront of Josh's mind, and the first thing he does is cry out and scramble back. The Wendigo comes even closer, and Josh panics, his eyes darting to the side. When they do, however, he catches something on the Wendigo's arm that makes his blood run cold.

A black butterfly tattoo.

“Hannah…?” He whispers, his heart roaring in his ears.

The Wendigo stops, cocking its head. The name seems to make it hesitate, and Josh feels so renewed by this that he can't stop the words from spilling out. “Hannah—it's me—Josh—your brother—” he babbles, but now the Wendigo draws back, as if offended, and scrabbles away, screeching as it leaves the two of them in the pit.

Josh feels like all the energy in his body was just sucked out, and he slumps, completely winded. Chris comes to his side immediately. “Josh—fuck—oh god—I thought we were goners— _fuck_ , man.” Chris is on the verge of tears, and he's trying so hard to hold them back—he's _been_ trying—but now he can't anymore, and they come forth, his voice thin and hysteric. “Please tell me that thing wasn't Hannah. Please, Josh, please.”

But all Josh can do is cling to Chris and sob into his shoulder, and then Chris knows. He knows, he knows, he knows, and it hurts.

-

“Shit! Did you see where Josh and Chris went?” Sam pants once they're in the next area of the mines and seem to have left the Wendigos behind.

Mike shakes his head. “Chris has a shotgun. They—they can take care of themselves.” He doesn't really believe it, but he doesn't have any other choice right now. It's Jess they need to look for—it's Jess who needs help. “We have to look for Jess.”

The Stranger nods. “We'll find those two later. If they're any good, they'll take my advice about staying still.”

Mike doesn't voice the fact that his worry comes from the idea that the two of them are not, in fact, “any good”.

-

“Okay. Okay, okay. Josh, we need to get out of here somehow,” Chris says, running a hand on his friend's trembling back.

But Josh is having none of that right now. His body wracks with sobs instead. “That was _Hannah_ ,” he cries. “That was my _sister_. How long—how long was she down here, in the dark, hungry and suffering? How long, man? _How long??_ ”

Chris opens his mouth and he wishes he had the talent with words to console Josh, but nothing comes to him, nothing but an odd croaking sound and a pit in his throat.

“I knew she had to be dead,” Josh whispers, still clinging to Chris's body. “But all I wanted was that she died peacefully, died quick. Not like this, man. Not like this.” Another sob bursts through from his chest and overtakes him, and he knows he's soaking Chris's shirt but he doesn't know what to do anymore other than cry and scream into the dark.

“It's all my fault,” Josh says. “It's all my fault.”

Chris's heart swells. “No, it's not,” he replies right away. “It's not your fault, Josh,” he repeats, stronger now, and Josh looks up at him with big puffy eyes. “It was no one's fault. No one's fault but these monsters. None of us could have known what was going to happen. Yeah, the prank that was played on Hannah was fucked up, but no one could have known that it was going to end up the way it did. Just like… just like your prank, Josh.” His voice cracks a bit, and he's scared, worried maybe he shouldn't touch this subject, but he keeps going anyways. He has to. “Your prank was fucked up, man… and… I'm gonna be honest with you, the image of you being sawed in half is gonna be with me for life. _But you couldn't have known about any of this._ None of this is anyone's fault,” he says firmly, and his heart is beating oh-so-fast as he waits for Josh to respond.

“But...” Josh croaks, and Chris shakes his head.

“I forgive you,” Chris says, and those three words are everything.

-

They find Jess unconscious but still breathing in the middle of a spacious cavern, and Mike immediately runs to her, cradling her frail body in his arms. “Jess,” he whispers, and shakes her slightly, but when she doesn't respond, he decides it's better to let her get her rest and not aggravate her wounds, which she's covered with.

Gently and carefully, he swaddles her in his arms. Sam watches with a rare tenderness in her eyes before she turns. “We need to get going now,” she says, her voice low. “Before those things come back.”

Mike nods, standing up. It's a little hard to hold the shotgun and Jess at the same time, but he manages. “What about Josh and Chris?”

“They'll turn up,” the Stranger says gruffly. “We can't look for them while we're already being weighed down with one unconscious body. One thing at a time.”

 _Please hang in there,_ Sam thinks to herself as loudly as she can, and prays that someone is listening.

-

“Alright, big guy. We gotta get going,” Chris says, and stands up slowly, helping Josh, pulling his weight up.

Josh manages to stand, albeit shakily, trusting his weight, his body, to Chris. Chris, who _forgave_ him—who _forgives_ him. Josh never knew the impact those three words could have on him, but his mind is a tumult of thoughts, of _you don't deserve his forgiveness_ and _after all that, you're still his friend—and he's still yours_.

Josh reaches out his hand and wraps it around Chris's wrist, the side that has the friendship bracelet, the one the two of them have had since they were in middle school. Chris glances back and slides his hand up so that they're holding hands instead. He gives Josh's hand a tight, reassuring squeeze before he carries on into the dark, using his phone's flashlight to guide the way.

Josh isn't sure what to think of that motion, but he's not about to complain, not with the sense of security it fills him with. All he has to do is follow Chris. Follow the light. Follow the hand that guides him out.

He can still hear Hannah and Beth, sometimes, but now he _knows_. Their voices at his ear, their claws to his throat. _“Why did you leave us to die, Josh? Why did you want us to die?”_ “I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I don't,” he whispers. “You're not real, go away, you're not real.”

And every time he stops and freezes up Chris waits for him and holds onto him tight, as if raising him from his living nightmares, and Josh nods slowly. “I trust you, I trust you, I trust you. I know, I know, I know.” And every step he feels like can do this, like he can leave them behind, because Chris forgave him, because it wasn't his fault. And he knows, he knows, he knows, and for once, it doesn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end, guys. Thanks for sticking around!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are guys, last chapter. This is basically the only multi-chapter fic I've ever finished, so I'm pretty proud of myself, and I'm also shocked with how quickly I finished it, haha. Like I said, though, I was pretty self-motivated to write this, given how hugely obsessed I am with Josh.
> 
> Please stick around for the end, because I've got a little more planned. And, thanks for reading!

Mike and Sam are just about to go back into the mines when Josh and Chris come trudging out, covered in scrapes and pale. Sam immediately runs over and wraps her arms around them, spilling out word after word of how relieved she is, how happy she is to see they're all okay.

“Yes—but we really should be getting back to the lodge now—” Chris says, and Sam nods, stepping back, giving them some distance.

(She didn't miss, of course, the fact that they were holding hands up until the very moment when she attacked them with a hug, but she decides now is not the time to bring it up.)

“Your friend's right. Time to get going. The Wendigos aren't as active during day, and dawn is almost here. Get out of here, and don't come back,” the Stranger says.

“What—you're staying here? With these things?” Mike asks incredulously.

“I've devoted my life to hunting these monsters. And I intend on not leaving until the day the very last one of these bastards is locked up,” he replies, and candidly waits at the entrance of the mine. “Kindly leave your shotguns with me and get the hell out of here.”

They don't argue.

-

When Chris gets back, Ashley wraps her arms around him so tightly that he's almost being strangled, and he can't help but blush at the close proximity of her body.

“I was so worried when you left, and every second you weren't here I thought you might have died,” she says into his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her, too, letting the mutual hug sink in.

“I'm fine, now,” he says. “We're all going to be okay.” And he believes it.

“Is help coming?” Sam asks, looking to Em and Matt.

Emily nods. “At dawn.”

“Great, so we can just wait until then,” Mike says, and lays Jessica gently down onto the couch.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Josh asks cautiously, and Mike looks over at him.

A stew of feelings are going on inside of his head towards Josh but he's so relieved they're all okay that all he can do is give his bro a pat on the back. Josh cringes a bit, but he pretends it's all good, so Mike pretends it's all good too, and Josh is happy for that.

“She'll be fine,” Mike says. “As long as help comes fast and they get her medical attention right away.” The _“I hope”_ is unspoken but implied.

They settle in the lounge now, still a little wired, and a part of Mike wishes he kept at least one of those shotguns. But he's trusting his life—and all of theirs—in the hands of a stranger, and he hopes that's going to be enough. He sits next to Sam, a newfound respect towards her growing, blooming, and they don't need to exchange any words for them to just _know_.

Josh sits by himself in front of the fireplace, watching orange and gold and red flicker. He's deep in his own mind when Chris and Ashley hunker down next to him.

“Hey,” Chris says, and Josh looks at him, giving him the most fragile and delicate of smiles.

“Hey, Cochise,” he says hoarsely.

“We're going to be okay,” Chris says.

“I know.”

Chris nods and smiles, giving him a fist-bump to the shoulder. And this time Josh doesn't wince, but sways slightly with it, and his grin becomes a little stronger.

In the images of the fire, Josh can still see his sisters, _burning_. But Chris is there, and Ashley is there, and everyone else is there, and alive, and he knows. His greatest work, his magnum opus, was not his prank. His magnum opus will be the one where he earns all of their forgiveness, not just Chris's.

Yes—even the forgiveness of Hannah and Beth. (Whether it's the Hannah and the Beth inside of his mind, or their real ghosts, he doesn't know. And does it really matter? Because his visions are real enough to him, and they're all that he knows.)

They stay like this, the three of them, their bodies warmed more by each other than by the dying crackling flames, until dawn.

At sunrise, the sound of helicopters are a blessing, and Emily is first to run out into the open and wave her arms, hollering for help.

-

_[SUBJECT: JOSHUA WASHINGTON. Wearing a large oversized jumpsuit with overalls, and covered with various scrapes all over the body. Subject appears calm but is showing signs of confusion.]_

INTERVIEWER: Some of your friends mentioned the presence of a… “monster”. They referred to this as a “Wendigo”. Can you confirm the existence of this being?

WASHINGTON: This guy… he warned us, he warned… my family. A long time ago. I never took it seriously… my dad never took it seriously. I wish I had… wish we all had…

INTERVIEWER: Mr Washington. The “Wendigo”.

WASHINGTON: What? The what? _[pauses]_ Yeah. I saw it. Them. It was real, they were real, she was real. _[Subject rocks back and forth in seat for a moment, and vision goes unfocused. After a moment, he continues.]_ My sister. My sister…

INTERVIEWER: Your sister, Mr Washington? Which one?

WASHINGTON: Hannah… she was one of them.

INTERVIEWER: Your sister was a “Wendigo”?

WASHINGTON: She was real… the one in the mines was real. Not the one in my mind, not that one, not that one…

INTERVIEWER: Mr Washington. It appears we'll have to continue this interview another time.

WASHINGTON: What about… what about everyone else? Are they okay? They're okay, aren't they?

INTERVIEWER: Don't worry about your friends, Mr Washington. You're all safe here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that marks the end! Thanks so much for reading all the way through. The quality of this fic is actually kinda poor, writing-wise, considering I wrote this whole thing in one go in a week with no edits, and I was originally planning on going back and doing a rewrite, but instead I've decided to do something else: a sequel!
> 
> The sequel won't actually strictly require reading this fic, but events from this fic will definitely be mentioned, and the relationships between the characters are definitely different for sure (especially attitudes regarding Josh).
> 
> The fic is going to be mainly Josh/Chris/Ashley-centric. Sam and Mike might also appear, but they won't be major characters.
> 
> The working title is Compos Mentis. I hope you guys will be interested in checking it out!


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